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3.75 AVERAGE
3.75 AVERAGE
I just dont even understand what she was trying to do with this one, but Gwendolen (at the beginning only) was a fun character - a shame everyone got even more boring at the end
This is one of the few places in English literature where Jews appear as major characters AND are treated sympathetically. George Eliot clearly did her homework, as aspects of Jewish religion and history show up where they naturally fit in the lives of her characters. This novel was published before Theodore Herzl so I can't exactly call the romantic nationalist ideas of the Mordecai character "Zionism," but they do faithfully represent how other Jewish writers like Heinrich Heine thought establishing a Jewish national homeland would bring an end to the Jews' status as an oppressed people. Aside from all that, it's the characters in the book that make it worth reading.
challenging
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Diverse cast of characters:
No
It's a constant wonder to me that I can enjoy Eliot so much while hating all of her characters so much.
Always my favorite Eliot - her masterpiece, I think. Just re-read it and love it more than ever. Stand up for what's right even though it's difficult, dangerous, or perhaps unappealing.
Daniel Deronda, George Eliot's last complete work is probably her most ambitious.
Unlike her previous works, which were set in quaint little country villages, Daniel Deronda is set in high society London. And instead of the small-town politics and gossip, Eliot seems to have taken on global politics of the time - her time, as it's the only novel set during the Victorian Age. Eliot takes stabs at British Imperialism, common prejudices, identity issues, religion (especially the emergence of Zionism), the inheritance customs/laws, and the limitations of being a woman.
The novel has two main storylines that, of course, intersect. We have the story of Gwendolen Harleth, a vain beauty who is used to getting anything and everything she wants. When the unthinkable happens, she marries Henleigh Grandcourt .
Henleigh Grandcourt is set to inherit Daniel Deronda's home, as Daniel's legal guardian, Sir Hugo, has no sons of his own. Grandcourt, being his nephew, is the only male heir able to inherit. Henleigh is an unsavory character and weds the beautiful Gwendolen only because he wants to break her will and master her.
Daniel, being an almost-cousin of Henleigh's and a neighbor and aquaintance of Gwendolen's is involved with their story.
The other storyline is that of Mirah, a "Jewess" who is distraught and rescued by Deronda. She is searching for her lost brother and mother while trying to stay away from the father who stole her away. Daniel begins searching for her family and meets Mordecai, a Jew who is a visionary and faithful to the Kaballistic philosophy.
And in all of this is Daniel. The main character who is unsure of his parentage and his true identity. He doesn't seem to fit into anywhere at all, which is perfect as he has a foot in both of the worlds Eliot is focusing on.
Hefty, even by Eliot standards, Daniel Deronda is Tolstoy-like in its complexity with shades of Dickens in the characters and the social issues Eliot addresses.
To be very much sued or hopelessly sighed for as a bride was indeed an indispensible and agreeable guarantee of womanly power; but to become a wife and wear all the domestic fetters of that condition, was on the whole a vexatious necessity. (p.68)
The beginning of an aquaintace whether with persons or things is to get a definite outline for our own ignorance. (p.145)
Some feelings are like our hearing: they come as sounds do, before we know their reason. (p.259)
Unlike her previous works, which were set in quaint little country villages, Daniel Deronda is set in high society London. And instead of the small-town politics and gossip, Eliot seems to have taken on global politics of the time - her time, as it's the only novel set during the Victorian Age. Eliot takes stabs at British Imperialism, common prejudices, identity issues, religion (especially the emergence of Zionism), the inheritance customs/laws, and the limitations of being a woman.
The novel has two main storylines that, of course, intersect. We have the story of Gwendolen Harleth, a vain beauty who is used to getting anything and everything she wants. When the unthinkable happens
Spoiler
(she, her mother, and her sisters lose all their wealth and are left destitute)Spoiler
(so she doesn't have to go away and be a governess and her family doesn't have to be (gasp!) poor)Henleigh Grandcourt is set to inherit Daniel Deronda's home, as Daniel's legal guardian, Sir Hugo, has no sons of his own. Grandcourt, being his nephew, is the only male heir able to inherit. Henleigh is an unsavory character and weds the beautiful Gwendolen only because he wants to break her will and master her.
Spoiler
He has some skeletons in his closet as well - namely that he has three children by another woman he once promised to wed.Daniel, being an almost-cousin of Henleigh's and a neighbor and aquaintance of Gwendolen's is involved with their story.
The other storyline is that of Mirah, a "Jewess" who is distraught and rescued by Deronda. She is searching for her lost brother and mother while trying to stay away from the father who stole her away. Daniel begins searching for her family and meets Mordecai, a Jew who is a visionary and faithful to the Kaballistic philosophy.
And in all of this is Daniel. The main character who is unsure of his parentage and his true identity. He doesn't seem to fit into anywhere at all, which is perfect as he has a foot in both of the worlds Eliot is focusing on.
Hefty, even by Eliot standards, Daniel Deronda is Tolstoy-like in its complexity with shades of Dickens in the characters and the social issues Eliot addresses.
To be very much sued or hopelessly sighed for as a bride was indeed an indispensible and agreeable guarantee of womanly power; but to become a wife and wear all the domestic fetters of that condition, was on the whole a vexatious necessity. (p.68)
The beginning of an aquaintace whether with persons or things is to get a definite outline for our own ignorance. (p.145)
Some feelings are like our hearing: they come as sounds do, before we know their reason. (p.259)
This ambitious novel melds the stories of two very different characters, so perhaps it's appropriate that the novel itself seems a hybrid of a little bit of a lot of what we expect from 19th-century British novelists: the sensational melodrama of Wilkie Collins; the perfection of 'good' characters a la Dickens, along with his humor and irony (though Eliot's is more subtle); the satire of marriage customs and the problem of moneymaking for females who are trained to be helpless, reminiscent of the arguably-18th-century Austen; and the morality, compassion and authorial asides of Eliot herself. As only one example of the latter, Eliot literally excuses the faults of most of the characters (excepting the one true villain of the work) in sentences as superfluous as Gwendolen's younger half-sisters.
I was intrigued by Chapter 11 whereby we 'hear' the thoughts between the spoken words of Gwen and Grandcourt upon their first meeting. Since it's early on, I hoped for more such innovation in its prose. But it is ideas, more than any other element, that are much more in the forefront, especially in the case of its eponymous character, who is obviously a Jesus-figure. He's not the only one who is almost too perfect and it's a bit of a relief for the 21st-century reader when one of these characters suffers understandable jealousy, seemingly her only 'fault'.
Literary (as well as artistic and political) allusions abound and I enjoyed those that I caught -- classical mythology and [b:The Divine Comedy|6655|The Divine Comedy|Dante Alighieri|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1462220704s/6655.jpg|809248] stand out for me. Reading this novel is to know Eliot's brilliance and her genius.
I was intrigued by Chapter 11 whereby we 'hear' the thoughts between the spoken words of Gwen and Grandcourt upon their first meeting. Since it's early on, I hoped for more such innovation in its prose. But it is ideas, more than any other element, that are much more in the forefront, especially in the case of its eponymous character, who is obviously a Jesus-figure. He's not the only one who is almost too perfect and it's a bit of a relief for the 21st-century reader when one of these characters suffers understandable jealousy, seemingly her only 'fault'.
Literary (as well as artistic and political) allusions abound and I enjoyed those that I caught -- classical mythology and [b:The Divine Comedy|6655|The Divine Comedy|Dante Alighieri|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1462220704s/6655.jpg|809248] stand out for me. Reading this novel is to know Eliot's brilliance and her genius.
Recently I watched a TV adaptation of Andrea Levy's [b:Small Island|44001|Small Island|Andrea Levy|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1437256773l/44001._SY75_.jpg|573909], a book I had read when it first came out but which I'd more or less forgotten. The adaptation succeeded very well, and might even have been better than the book. The characters were credible and their motivations were clear. Their words and actions informed the viewer so well about the background to the story that the occasional narratorial voiceover seemed unnecessary.
Soon afterwards, I watched the first episode of a three-part adaptation of [b:Daniel Deronda|374414|Daniel Deronda|George Eliot|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1628441883l/374414._SY75_.jpg|313957], and had the opposite reaction. Nothing made sense to me. I was convinced that a large part of Eliot's intentions for the story were missing, and while the actors were all fine in their way, the words they were given to say were simply not enough. I tried to fill in the missing bits myself but couldn't. It was impossible to imagine the history and motivations that lay behind those characters and their actions, as impossible as trying to imagine the layers of messages underlying the movie title Three Billboards outside Ebbing Missouri until you've viewed that extraordinary film for yourself—which I've just done. If there had been a book on which that film was based, I'm certain that it could never measure up to the movie. Every frame was a billboard in itself, and the message on each was astonishingly spare and incredibly eloquent.
George Eliot is very eloquent, but there is nothing spare about her writing. You cannot pare it down and fit it in movie frames yet it is very visual in spite of that. It belongs on the page—but offers the big screen experience to the mind's eye. But you have to read all the words to see the pictures properly. I was very glad I abandoned the TV adaptation after that first episode and picked up the book instead. Right from the first page I realised that without the support of the text I could never have succeeded in fully understanding the complexities of motivation that lay behind the surface story, or indeed the scope of Eliot's project in the first place. And when I reached the end of the book, I was certain that I didn't need to watch the rest of the TV adaptation—the book had been more vivid for me that any adaptation could be.
I posted an update the day I finished the book, regretting that the reading experience was over, and a curious conversation erupted in the comments section of that update. The conversation made me realise that there are readers who tackle books as if their task were to adapt them for the screen rather than simply read what is on the page. They would like to cut massive sections, delete certain characters, and make other characters act differently so that the story might move towards an ending they think is more fitting. You could say that such an approach is a very 'creative' way of reading but you could also wonder where the writer's intentions for her work fit in that scenario.
The writer's intentions are everything for me. I may probe them and question them but I would never disregard them. A writer's work is a sacred thing, a bit like other people's religious beliefs, not to be tampered with even when we don't revere them ourselves. I mention religion because it is a major theme in this book. George Eliot became more and more interested in Judaism during the course of her life, at first in an effort to overcome her own prejudices towards the increasing Jewish population in mid-nineteenth century Britain, and then later because she had become genuinely interested in the common origin of Judaism and Christianity. This book is essentially about that preoccupation, but because Eliot is very good at creating story lines, she has inserted the Jewish themed story into an intriguing frame story. Readers seem to differ about which story is the more worthwhile part of the book, and many favour the frame story. However, I found that the two strands overlapped and echoed each other so well that I never even thought of separating or comparing them. Characters from both sections mirrored each other even if they seemed completely opposite, and the central redeemer-like figure of Daniel Deronda linked them all together perfectly. The overall shape of the book worked very well for me and I'm left in awe of George Eliot's mind as well as her writing.
The result of this unplanned reading adventure is that [b:Daniel Deronda|304|Daniel Deronda|George Eliot|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1632587921l/304._SY75_.jpg|313957] now marks the beginning of my 2018 George Eliot season. I'm looking forward to reading the rest of her books, and I may possibly reread [b:Middlemarch|19089|Middlemarch|George Eliot|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1568307771l/19089._SY75_.jpg|1461747] as a fitting endnote.
So much for the to-read stack I selected at the beginning of January. Abandoned indefinitely!
…………………………………………………
Because I've a keen interest in Henry James, and I know he admired George Eliot's writing, I was interested to spot what might have been the germ of his inspiration for [b:The Portrait of a Lady|264|The Portrait of a Lady|Henry James|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1502148606l/264._SY75_.jpg|1434368]. Eliot's frame story concerns a fiercely independent-minded young woman who, in spite of the general expectation, is in no hurry to marry anyone. Nevertheless, like HJ's Isabel Archer, Gwendolyn Harleth finds herself enslaved by a cold-hearted husband who is only interested in crushing her independent spirit. It seems to me that Henleigh Grandcourt and HJ's Gilbert Osmond have a lot in common.
Eliot's main story also reminded me of another Henry James plot line. I think Daniel Deronda could have been an inspiration for Hyacinth Robinson in [b:Princess Casamassima|924477|The Princess Casamassima|Henry James|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1367256612l/924477._SY75_.jpg|1017098]. They are both orphans who desperately need to discover more about their parents, and they both become deeply involved in movements they had no previous associations with.
Slim connections, perhaps, but I love finding such links.
Soon afterwards, I watched the first episode of a three-part adaptation of [b:Daniel Deronda|374414|Daniel Deronda|George Eliot|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1628441883l/374414._SY75_.jpg|313957], and had the opposite reaction. Nothing made sense to me. I was convinced that a large part of Eliot's intentions for the story were missing, and while the actors were all fine in their way, the words they were given to say were simply not enough. I tried to fill in the missing bits myself but couldn't. It was impossible to imagine the history and motivations that lay behind those characters and their actions, as impossible as trying to imagine the layers of messages underlying the movie title Three Billboards outside Ebbing Missouri until you've viewed that extraordinary film for yourself—which I've just done. If there had been a book on which that film was based, I'm certain that it could never measure up to the movie. Every frame was a billboard in itself, and the message on each was astonishingly spare and incredibly eloquent.
George Eliot is very eloquent, but there is nothing spare about her writing. You cannot pare it down and fit it in movie frames yet it is very visual in spite of that. It belongs on the page—but offers the big screen experience to the mind's eye. But you have to read all the words to see the pictures properly. I was very glad I abandoned the TV adaptation after that first episode and picked up the book instead. Right from the first page I realised that without the support of the text I could never have succeeded in fully understanding the complexities of motivation that lay behind the surface story, or indeed the scope of Eliot's project in the first place. And when I reached the end of the book, I was certain that I didn't need to watch the rest of the TV adaptation—the book had been more vivid for me that any adaptation could be.
I posted an update the day I finished the book, regretting that the reading experience was over, and a curious conversation erupted in the comments section of that update. The conversation made me realise that there are readers who tackle books as if their task were to adapt them for the screen rather than simply read what is on the page. They would like to cut massive sections, delete certain characters, and make other characters act differently so that the story might move towards an ending they think is more fitting. You could say that such an approach is a very 'creative' way of reading but you could also wonder where the writer's intentions for her work fit in that scenario.
The writer's intentions are everything for me. I may probe them and question them but I would never disregard them. A writer's work is a sacred thing, a bit like other people's religious beliefs, not to be tampered with even when we don't revere them ourselves. I mention religion because it is a major theme in this book. George Eliot became more and more interested in Judaism during the course of her life, at first in an effort to overcome her own prejudices towards the increasing Jewish population in mid-nineteenth century Britain, and then later because she had become genuinely interested in the common origin of Judaism and Christianity. This book is essentially about that preoccupation, but because Eliot is very good at creating story lines, she has inserted the Jewish themed story into an intriguing frame story. Readers seem to differ about which story is the more worthwhile part of the book, and many favour the frame story. However, I found that the two strands overlapped and echoed each other so well that I never even thought of separating or comparing them. Characters from both sections mirrored each other even if they seemed completely opposite, and the central redeemer-like figure of Daniel Deronda linked them all together perfectly. The overall shape of the book worked very well for me and I'm left in awe of George Eliot's mind as well as her writing.
The result of this unplanned reading adventure is that [b:Daniel Deronda|304|Daniel Deronda|George Eliot|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1632587921l/304._SY75_.jpg|313957] now marks the beginning of my 2018 George Eliot season. I'm looking forward to reading the rest of her books, and I may possibly reread [b:Middlemarch|19089|Middlemarch|George Eliot|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1568307771l/19089._SY75_.jpg|1461747] as a fitting endnote.
So much for the to-read stack I selected at the beginning of January. Abandoned indefinitely!
…………………………………………………
Because I've a keen interest in Henry James, and I know he admired George Eliot's writing, I was interested to spot what might have been the germ of his inspiration for [b:The Portrait of a Lady|264|The Portrait of a Lady|Henry James|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1502148606l/264._SY75_.jpg|1434368]. Eliot's frame story concerns a fiercely independent-minded young woman who, in spite of the general expectation, is in no hurry to marry anyone. Nevertheless, like HJ's Isabel Archer, Gwendolyn Harleth finds herself enslaved by a cold-hearted husband who is only interested in crushing her independent spirit. It seems to me that Henleigh Grandcourt and HJ's Gilbert Osmond have a lot in common.
Eliot's main story also reminded me of another Henry James plot line. I think Daniel Deronda could have been an inspiration for Hyacinth Robinson in [b:Princess Casamassima|924477|The Princess Casamassima|Henry James|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1367256612l/924477._SY75_.jpg|1017098]. They are both orphans who desperately need to discover more about their parents, and they both become deeply involved in movements they had no previous associations with.
Slim connections, perhaps, but I love finding such links.
daniel deronda? i hardly know her!
insane story. starts out so incredibly strong. the first part is a beautiful piece of character work. eliot conjures gwendolen in such a compelling way, she really skilfully handles shifts in time and perspective, and renders emotion in ways i’m genuinely unsure i’ve read before - but sure have felt! - particularly those unnamed emotions which are neither positive nor negative but something electrically in between.
reading this with adam bede in mind was sort of weird, because the parallels between them are so striking. gwendolen and hetty are separated by class and a century, but they’re both beautiful young women brought down specifically because of their beauty and the confidence and hopes it gives them, and the naivety it hides from them. (also was aware of a conspicuous non-presence of sex in how their lives are told to us, which i’m usually not conscious of in novels of this period, but victorian prudish silence feels more bug than feature for the stories eliot wants to tell, which i think speaks to how ambitious and modern these women feel as characters.) and then you have the eponymous man, who’s good and honest and insightful, despite some flawed reactions, and the secondary woman, who has faith and is basically perfect.
and also both books imo become much less compelling with the backseating of their beautiful fools. i think eliot sees both their stories through stirringly, but my god the damage resolving the lives of these eponymous men does to her endings… society if george eliot named her books after these women and thereby centred them instead… i am fading into silence because i dont want to talk about the other half of the book…
the thing about me is i always think i am going to have special insight and i’ll be able to see what all those other people missed. but no, they were right. the jewish stuff in this sucks in comparison to the rest of it. the zionism is grim, but long before that the damage is done. i like mirah well enough, although she’s embarrassingly thin compared to gwendolen, but she’s mostly interesting because of her strange life, and as an element in the weird emotional snarl between gwendolen and daniel, which is also the best thing about his plot. this isn’t because i’m such a gwendolen head, but because i think this novel is at its most compelling in its emotional work, and in exploring the huge impact of seemingly everyday glances, meetings, feelings, responsibilities.
what doesn’t work is mordecai. this book is a victorian novel in pretty standard ways for about 450 pages, and then suddenly deronda’s on a quest, he has fated bonds, he’s a hidden heir, recognised despite not knowing his upbringing, there’s a chest of mystery parchment– he’s in a fantasy narrative except the magic land he’s to inherit is israel!! it’s insane. and the fantastical nature of this is acknowledged too: ‘it was as far from Gwendolen's conception that Deronda's life could be determined by the historical destiny of the Jews, as that he could rise into the air on a brazen horse, and so vanish from her horizon in the form of a twinkling star.’ until then, eliot does a fairly good job of rendering the kind of prejudices jewish people face in england at that time, not least through deronda, who’s got this interesting disgust he has to unlearn, in what seems to be setting up a fairly mature discussion about it. and then it lapses into this. and the fantasy is not even interesting: it’s so dense and mordecai speaks so exclusively in proselytising and period philosophy, and it’s all conducted in poorly lit rooms (i imagine). deronda finding out about his parentage? interesting. deronda immediately being like yipee modercai? deadening.
so. the two parts of the book fit together strangely, almost surreally, but i dont actually have an issue with that: i actually found gwendolen and deronda’s uneven thoughts towards each other compelling, and i think there’s a reasonable point made about the sort of many lives lived in society. but i wish the halves weren’t so completely uneven and out of balance, and that they were better matched in the interest they held, and the skill with which they’re rendered. but the gwendolen parts are so impressive. i hope she was ok after the close of the novel. i believe she was. i hope daniel falls off a boat.